


Make Love, It's Free

by Bluesmoke (NotSharon)



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, RuPaul's Drag Race References, rpdr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 22:22:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13691037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSharon/pseuds/Bluesmoke
Summary: Trixie looks back on her relationship with Katya, growing up and growing old. Knowing how they've changed, how they've grown over time, like trees, reaching as much for each other as they did the sky.





	Make Love, It's Free

**Author's Note:**

> This is a present for a lovely friend of mine, @randompizzaeater on Tumblr.

It’s on the slower days when Trixie starts to remember, when her bones are cold, when she can hear the rain outside. It’s when she’s finally sat down with a blanket spread over her lap. It’s when the house is silent, when they’ve both tired for the day, Katya’s boots, caked lightly with mud, resting by the door. The floor shifts with the weather, and Trixie can feel the wood easing, similar to her mind, sighing as the window fogs. 

She remembers when they first met, way back when they were both hippies, too young to be as passionate as they were. Showing up in San Francisco with big dreams and long hair, embroidery sewn onto the back of Trixie’s jacket thanks to countless nights back in her childhood bedroom, holding a needle between her teeth as she listened to the sound if the wind outside. She’d left home with her music and a backpack, riding bus after bus all the way to California, sitting in creaky train stations with her case strapped to her back, feeling a beat in her chest as unfamiliar hills washed by. She’d arrived in spring, getting a job at a cafe to make enough for a black coffee and a sandwich She’d smoked joints in the back on her break, playing her guitar to the tune of peace and love.

It had been sunny when Trixie first saw her come in. It had been a little past five, and she was still on her shift, cleaning up one of the tables by the door, her hair wavy and tangled, falling past her shoulders. She remembered it easily, the colors in her head as vibrant as the paints laying in their bedroom, littered with old canvases. She didn’t know if Katya could ever use them all.

The bell jingled as the door had opened, letting the summer breeze glide in. It was one of those hazy summers, when nobody really remembered anything after- maybe because they were high, or maybe just because it was so hot, with beads of sweat dripping down all of their necks, fogging their minds with thoughts of cool breezes and the ocean.

It hadn’t been the first time Trixie had seen a beautiful woman, far from it, but it probably had been one of the last. Her hair had been long, longer than Trixie’s at that time, golden and flowings, smaller strands twisted into braids. Her face had been bare from makeup, tan from the gaze of the sun, with big green eyes and a toothy smile that made Trixie want to melt. She’d been wearing some old shirt, and Trixie had always remembered what it said, “Make love, it’s free.” She remembered grinning when she’d first seen it, her eyes floating up into a smile. 

She knew her as Katya now, but then, back in a yellow dazed summer, she hadn’t known her name. She only knew that this woman was beautiful, with her old t-shirt and her flowing hair, smile as bright as the sun. Katya had winked at her, called her flower, “because she looked like one,” and Trixie had given her the number to the landline in her little apartment. She remembered the first time she’d come over. Katya had convinced her to learn to paint, attempting to teach her to hold a brush and mix the acrylics. Trixie had tried to teach her to play her guitar too, but with fumbling hands and dissonant chords they’d ended up on the ground laughing instead.

She remembered Katya in her clothes now. She’d grown, like a flower, over time. That summer was made up of her t-shirts, ‘hotter than hell’ and ‘honey’ with big bell bottoms and long hair, with lots of driving and pot, with flowers stuck into braids and string tied carefully around her wrists (bracelets that would last). 

She’d grinned at Trixie as she laid back in the grass at the park, bare feet resting in her lap. They’d stayed there all afternoon, gazing up at the clouds together. At some point Trixie had leaned down over her face to stick small flowers in her hair. Katya’s eyes had only left the distant sky to wander to her. She’d gotten a funny look in her eyes that afternoon, said she wanted to fly- that she wanted to be a bird so she could be free forever. They shared a small smile, Trixie looking over from her spot in the grass. It was in that moment that Trixie also found herself kissing her, pressing their lips gently together. It felt like kissing the sun. Maybe like kissing the moon too- overwhelming and calming all at once. She hadn’t known what they were to each other then, only that it felt good- that she felt good. Trixie had kissed her for a long while before settling into her side, skin warm from the sun.

Trixie also sang to her when they were alone, sat on the ground with her guitar and smiled at her. She strummed chords and made up songs about a wild flower child with a taste for Betty Friedman. Sometimes she’d play her harp too, sing to Katya on the floor of her living room, play for her until she’d smile or roll over, rest her head near her knee and close her eyes. Trixie knew she was tired.

They would run out into the night together wearing fringe and dark eyeliner that Katya would smudge for her, into funky clubs to feel the beat inside their souls, to dance close in the dimness of the lights. Katya’s eyes would glow, her gaze thick on Trixie as they would move against one another. She remembered how free they’d felt, how they’d pressed their foreheads together, how Katya would pull her closer by her belt loops, kiss her until her lips were numb and then some. 

In those months, her and Katya had sat on the floor of her bathroom, Trixie holding a pair of scissors in her hands, leaning up on her knees to help her cut her hair, framing her face with choppy bangs. She’d squinted as she snipped, blonde hair drifting down onto the cheap tile beside their bare feet.

It had been that summer when they’d first made love, on a roadtrip they’d taken all the way to Requa, in the back of Katya’s rusty Volvo station wagon, affectionately named Diana after her grandmother. With smiles and laughs and clumsy trips, Trixie had laid back, sand sprinkling the seats as Katya had laughed too, pulling her shirt over her head. Trixie had smashed their lips together, warm and sweaty like way back home. Trixie remembered falling asleep on their drive back to San Francisco, head resting on the window. Katya had avoided the holes in the road, her smile somehow both soft and bright every time she woke up, her hand resting on Trixie’s even when they turned. 

She’d told her she loved her for the first time in those days too. It had been when Katya was leaving for the grocery store. Probably for eggs. They always needed more. She’d yelled goodbye and Trixie had only responded with “Love you.” Her head had only shot up when she felt Katya’s arms around her, then a kiss to the side of her face, fingers pressing into her sides. She hadn’t made it to the store that night. 

Trixie also remembered when they’d fought, yelling at each other in the space of Trixie’s small living room, frustrated and bitter, Trixie desperate for attention and Katya feeling angry enough to shut down. At some point they’d both grown apart, Katya spending less of her nights with Trixie, more of them alone in her studio, painting away at projects Trixie had been sure she’d never finish. Trixie too, had been consumed, playing in the space of the quiet house, already fast asleep by the time Katya unlocked the door, furniture still and silent. Trixie remembered sleeping cold one of those nights, still dark when Katya had settled, her weight on the mattress lingering on the far side of the bed. They’d fought before she’d left that morning, Katya slamming the door as she’d left. Trixie had turned over, looking over to make out her figure in the dark, squinting to find her head. "Come here, it’s cold," she’d mumbled quietly. Katya had tangled their legs together tight that night, her freezing feet pressed against Trixie’s shin. She hadn’t minded.

Fall was full of red and orange- chunky belts and wide pants, her hair shorter then, almost above her elbows. She was growing her bangs out, and her braids were gone then too. She had started trying to wear more necklaces.

Katya radiated warmth in those days, with her amber necklaces and glimmering eyes. Her old suede bag and her red clogs, her hair pulled away from her face. Trixie remembered sitting still for hours that autumn, arms stiff from her pose. She’d talked softly to her, motionless as Katya had sat in front of her, pains scattered like vibrant debris around her crossed legs. The painting took hours to finish, and Trixie eventually gave up on her stationary position. Instead she’d spent time outside on their balcony, the breeze blowing through the open windows. 

The painting had become one of many of Trixie, resting beside one another by the bed. Katya refused to sell them, instead looked through them every few months, tugged Trixie to join her. She would ease herself down on the floor as Katya pointed out memories she’d been sure they’d both long forgotten. 

By that point, Katya had told her they were connected- that it was in the stars for them to be together, that mother earth had created the two of them to walk beside one another in life. Although she knew nothing of stars and the earth, she believed what she said to be true, could imagine them growing old together, however they ended up. 

They made signs together, walked rallies and made room in their apartment for passing strangers that reminded them of themselves, with bright eyes and big dreams, the people that slept in the living room weren’t too different either. They smoked pot and wore tie dye, played instruments and wrote poetry to stick on the fridge. Katya had stayed up many nights, drawing and painting with the strangers. Trixie hadn’t minded, only kissed her before she went to bed, sometimes leaned on her shoulder as they would sketch, her eyes drifting closed to the sound of soft voices and paper.

Winters back in those years were made of black tights and dresses, no jackets because Katya liked being cold, liked to "feel the earth, and the sun, and the sky." Trixie remembered how freezing her hands always were, and how she would hold one in her coat pocket as they walked home, shoes soft on the pavement, with their exhales floating in the air. She’d piled up blankets on the nights when they didn’t have enough money to pay for heat. They would hold one another when it was dark and the sun had gone to sleep, even on the evenings when they argued, if not for forgiving comfort then for warmth.

More nights than one had resulted in quiet voices in the dark house, tangled legs with Trixie’s nose pressed against the back of Katya’s neck. She’d turned over when the cold wasn’t unbearable, when they felt right with one another. Katya kissed her mouth softly, rolled gently on top of her to bring her back down to earth as she always did, with soft hands and easy mouth, they would find their way back home from the stars.

They’d changed as they’d grown older, as Trixie knew all people to. Katya’s hair began to gray a few years after they’d moved out to the country, way up north in the woods after her grandfather had died, wrinkles deepening around her eyes and her smile. Trixie thought age made Katya look more like herself, thought her graying hair made her look more alive and colorful, that she looked like she belonged way out in the cabin where they lived. She’d inherited the land, and they'd sold everything they owned to pay for the move but paints and instruments. Katya’s eyes had shined once she’d seen the trees and the water, with the old, tired cabin and the leaves on the ground, organic and earthy, like her. Trixie remembered the look in her eyes, remembered how she’d wanted it to last forever, wanted to make her that happy for as long as she could. In the coming months they’d gathered wood, slept in the back of Diana the station wagon, rolled down the windows when it was warm enough. 

With dirty fingernails and sweating foreheads, they’d repaired the cabin slowly, drove back into the nearest town for lumber. Trixie had taught herself how to frame a wall, how to install trusses and nail studs. Katya had figured out how to build a fireplace and lay out flooring. For too long they’d been sure they were in over their heads, but another spring passed, as did another summer and fall. By winter Trixie was buying fabric to sew curtains and Katya had found them a table. 

The coming years changed them both, with building the farm, growing older, and long nights spent on the porch. Trixie came to know Katya as her lover and her friend, as her teacher and as her kin. They grew together like trees, roots intertwining, branches reaching for each other as well as the sky. 

Katya wore her boots, wore her hair long and loose around her shoulders, with her flowing blouses and skirts. The fabric lied on the ground as they laid in front of the fire, Trixie’s fingers combing through her aging hair as they rested, warming their hands and feet before they would ease themselves into bed. Katya would press kisses to her arms and cheeks, to her shoulders and hair. She would touch her hands as she would move beside her in the mornings, rest her chin on her shoulder when it was still too early for words. Trixie had no doubt of her love for her.

More than one evening had been consumed with bickering, over choice of wood or sketches or the weather. Trixie had almost left at one point early on, after she’d drank too much and yelled at Katya, told her that their lives were pointless- that they’d done nothing worthy of praise or remembrance. It had ended with Katya’s gentle eyes on her as she’d fallen asleep, hand on her back after she’d managed to get her to bed. 

They were never perfect, far from it. But Trixie saw Katya as who she was- with her self doubt, and her blinding optimism and her heart, larger than anyone’s she’d ever met. She saw her as who she was, and that was what made her so blinding, so beautiful that Trixie thought she might have to squint, as if looking at the sun.

She remembered them often nowadays, when they were both older, less shiny, when she had more time to think about the two of them and their youth. With dark clubs, and cold nights, and early mornings still from the time, hands tightly held together. Through the seasons they had changed with the trees. She liked to think back often, through Katya’s smile, their long history together, and how she’d changed- how they’d both changed- how they had waxed and waned like the moon, dancing together like leaves in the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? Please let me know! Also, come yell at me on Tumblr, @crochet-you-stay


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